The Kiss of Death
by RubyWeapon8503
Summary: In a modern world where magic exists, I'm doomed to die, and there's only one person who can help me. An original tale with fairy talefolk tale elements.


"Oh, by the way, you're going to die today," my father told me when I came down for breakfast this morning. Understandably, I got a little upset.

"What? Why? How?" I stammered. "How do you even know? Is someone after me?" My heart fluttered and thumped like a pixie trapped in my ribcage, and I knew my eyes were wide. I wondered if my father had finally decided I was too much of a nuisance and a burden, and I took a step back, ready to dart for the door.

"No, no, would you calm down? Stop the theatrics? Okay. You know how I've been low on money lately," he had said, settling down in the threadbare recliner.

I knew. Oh, how I knew. He's been blowing his money on booze and magic dust and betting on the horse races and griffin fights. He's stumbled in late every night, sloppy drunk, while I spend the days scrounging around for food after I've gotten back from school. I'd never cared much for my father, and my opinion of him had nose-dived after my mother had died and my brother took off, leaving me to fend for myself. Yes, I knew, and so I nodded my head.

He nodded along with me, pleased that I have calmed down. "Well, they've been looking for wish-granters, so I volunteered you."

The adrenaline kick-started by my fear then fueled my rage. "You mean you _sold_ me!" I corrected him with a scream. "I'm going to be a slave for the rest of my eternal life!? A goddam _genie_!?" I screamed.

"Now, now, you're not going to be a _genie_. You're going to be a _wish-granter._" And here I thought the PC days were over. "It's not so bad. You'll have lots of powers. You'll have everything you've ever wanted." He had chuckled then. "You might even be able to grant your old man a few wishes."

"Go to hell!" I stomped my foot like a petulant child. "I'm _not_ going to die, and I am certainly _not_ going to be anyone's goddam _genie_!"

My words didn't faze him. "Sorry, kid, but you don't have a choice. You're scheduled to die by six tonight. I made sure they didn't sign you up for a painful death. You can run away, you can kill yourself, it doesn't matter. By nine tonight, you'll be dead, then you'll start your wish-granter training, and I'll be counting my money."

His words were finally starting to sink in, making me feel fragile and weak, sick to my stomach, like I was already dying. "How much did they give you? How much did you sell your own child's immortal soul for?" I whispered.

He cracked his knuckles and leaned back in the recliner. "Ten thousand dollars." He finally replied.

"That's it? You sold my freedom for a lousy ten thousand dollars?"

He shrugged. "Hey, I don't need to tell you we need the money. I've got taxes to pay. The roof needs to be fixed. I need to eat."

I couldn't stand his cold rationalization any longer. "Well, I guess I should give you some credit," I told him in a low voice. "At least you didn't sell me for magic beans!" With that, I stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

I've roamed the city all day, unsure of what to do. Darkness has started to fall; the stores are closed, the streets empty. Even though I know it's pointless, I can't help looking over my shoulder, as though I will be able to predict the cause of my death and somehow stop it. I stare at my reflection in a darkened storefront. My skin pale, my eyes dark, I look like I'm dead already.

I'm all alone, and I feel like a loser. I had called a couple people, but everyone is busy. After all, it's a Saturday, and even though I'm going to die, I won't really be gone, right? I'm going to be a wish-granter, right? To hell with them. I guess it takes a tragedy to find out who your real friends are. In the end, I have no one to spend this day with, my last day as a living, breathing, free human being. I'm going to die alone. I'm going to die a virgin. I've never even been kissed. Christ.

I start to wonder what time it is. Ever since this morning, I've been checking my watch like crazy. I check it again. 4:30. I put my arm down, satisfied, until I realize that it's much too dark to be only 4:30. I raise my arm again and watch the numbers. They aren't moving. Not a big surprise. Advanced technology doesn't do much for you when you can't afford it. My watch is just a cheap, flimsy plastic thing. I look up at the dark, clouded sky. Great. Just great. I'm going to die at nine and I have no idea what time it is. In anger, I rip off the watch and stomp on it a few times.

Desperation starts to seep in, with despair nipping at its heels. Maybe it's a sign. Why am I fighting so hard? What the hell do I have to live for? I'm better off dead. Think about it. No family. No friends. No love. No money. No prospects. I should just give up right now, admit defeat. Just step in front of a speeding bus and accept my new "I Dream of Jeannie" life.

"Need a new watch?" I whip around to see a bearded and blue-skinned man standing behind me under a pale streetlight.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I do." I say, pegging him as a merchant.

"What kind? Analog? Digital? Digital-analog? Sport? Dress? Women's? Men's? Gold? Silver? Leather?" I have a feeling if I don't say something soon, he'll never, ever stop giving me options, so I blurt out, "Whatever's cheapest."

He glowers at my words, not wanting to waste his time on a cheapskate. He sighs and retrieves a cheap plastic watch from a coat pocket, and dangles it in front of me. I reach up to take it, and he pulls it away. "Allow me," he says as he fastens the watch around my wrist. "There's no need to be prudent, little wish-granter," he says, and as he says the words I see the black plastic merge and melt into delicate gold. "Or maybe silver?" and the gold pales to silver. Suddenly I notice his hazy form. He's a wish-granter, with the power to make the desire for any material possession come true.

"Take it." Mesmerized by his tone, I stare at the watch. The tiny hands tick off the seconds as quickly as grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, bewitching me further. The ticking grows louder, pounds in my ears like heartbeat. Time is moving so fast. Again I wonder - why am I fighting this? Even if I find a way out of this, I'll die eventually. I could die anytime, anyplace. Or I could live and watch time slip away as I became a lonely old woman. And who knew what would happen when I died? Maybe there was no afterlife. Maybe the opportunity to become a wish-granter was the best thing that ever happened to me. The chance of a lifetime.

With a gasp I snap out of it, snatching my hand away, self-pity taking a backseat to rebellion. "Leave me alone! It can't be time yet!" I protest.

"No, it's not time yet. But we know you're reluctant to change. Don't worry, I promise you'll like it. The power is incredible." He smiles, and his teeth look yellow against his dark blue skin.

"Yeah, but at what cost? You're a slave! I don't want power if I have to give up my freedom! Now leave me alone!"

I storm away from him. Behind me I can hear him yelling, "It doesn't matter what you want, little wish-granter! Soon, you will be one of us! Ah, but how soon?" He taunted. I stop to glance down at my wrist and groan. The watch is gone. How much time do I have left now?

"It's almost nine. Your time is drawing near." I hear the words coming from my right, spoken in an archaic-sounding and sage-like voice. I turn towards the sound, and I'm surprised to see that the voice belongs to a boy not much older than I. The slender figure is seated on a low stone wall that surrounds a complex of buildings. He is dressed all in black, his face turned away from me, revealing only a handsome profile. His dark hair is cut short on the side, longer on top and swept to the other side.

I expect him to face me, to address me, but he doesn't. Suddenly he is bathed in pale light. "'The killing moon will come too soon,'" he sings softly. The tune is hauntingly ominous. I turn to see that the clouds have parted, and the full moon is winking down at us. I get the feeling that he's teasing me, in a Cheshire-Cat sort of way.

"Who are you?" I ask finally, turning back to face him. "How do you know about me?"

His lips curl up into a smile. "I'm the only one who can help you now."

"I don't understand."

"I'm a death-bringer," he says, still facing away from me. "You know, a reaper. Grim death and all that."

"Oh. Then where's the hood and the sickle?" I ask him. For some reason, I don't feel afraid; perhaps because he doesn't seem threatening.

"Not all legends are true. The paraphernalia you speak of is merely superstition."

I smile despite myself. "And here I thought the whole personification of death was the superstition."

"No, no, it's all too real. I'm not the only one, of course, that would be absurd. Death-bringers and life-givers are pretty common; they're everywhere. Then you have ones like the love-bringers and the inspirers, those are less common. Wish-givers are one of the rarest of all, you know."

"No, I didn't. You seem to know a lot more about this than I do." I say, cautiously approaching him. He hears my footsteps and stiffens, turning his head away. I stop. "But it just doesn't seem worth it. Why should I die, and give up my freedom, just to serve other people?"

He nods. "I know how you feel. Our situations are quite similar. Centuries ago, my country was invaded. I was captured and forced into slavery. I was only twelve years old. They weren't satisfied with me. I was too weak and sickly. So, they sold me. They let me choose my position. I chose a death-bringer, because – "

"You wanted revenge," I say, thinking of my father.

"Yes," he says bitterly. "I didn't know that I wouldn't be able to use my powers that way."

"Why are you telling me all this? I'm not going to change my mind. I already told that guy." I said, swinging my thumb back to indicate the wish-granter I had met.

"The wish-granter you speak of will be free when you replace him. If you escape, he will have to wait until a new replacement is found. That is why he harassed you. " He pauses. "Not very many people volunteer these days. They're desperate for recruits. They will hunt you down ruthlessly, and they won't take no for an answer. I know you don't want that. And that's why I'm here." He turns a bit, and I can see what looks like a scar running down the center of his face. "I can help you."

"What's in it for you?" I ask. "I have no money. No skills. What can I offer you in return?"

"I only want one thing."

"What do you want?"

"A kiss."

For a moment I feel frozen. It's like some ancient fairy tale, but whether I'm Sleeping Beauty or some kind of frog princess I don't know. It seems too simple. "That's all?"

"Yes. I've never been kissed before."

"Never?" My heart starts to pound. Neither have I. If there's some woman out there with a gun to her head, forced to play Dame Fortune, perhaps she has a hand in this.

"No. In my present state, no one has wished to kiss me."

"Present state?" I ask. He turns the other side of his face to the moonlight, and suddenly I understand.

Horrible car accidents and terrible plane crashes and gruesome murders come to mind as I look upon him. Through some bizarre and cruel magic, he exists half in life and half in death. The pale peach-colored flesh ends in a symmetrical line that runs down the center of his face and is replaced by clean white bone. The bare ivory skull is partly hidden by the fall of long dark hair brushed over from the other side of his head. His right eye socket is empty; there is no twin to his lone grey eye. He only has half a nose; his lips end in a toothy sneer on the right side.

In fascinated horror, I tilt my head and I am able to see a cross-section of his nose, and the layers of fat and muscle and skin on the rest of his face. When I can finally pull my eyes away, I can see the deformity extends to his hand, and I can only imagine what other parts are affected. It isn't Sleeping Beauty, not by a long shot. It's Beauty and the Beast on crack.

I start to gag. I feel sorry for him, but it's just too much, too quickly. He's a monster. I see the disappointment and sadness on his mutilated face as he looks away, and I feel even worse. So much has been taken away from him – his home, his family, his freedom, his appearance. The possibility of love. Everything I face losing, he's already lost. Rather than cruelly and spitefully bringing me death, he offered me a chance that he was never given. All he asked for in return was a little human compassion. How could I deny him that?

Strengthening my resolve, I kneel down and bring my face to his. Luckily, it seems the affected parts of him are dead in appearance only; there is no smell of rot or death. I close my eyes and reach up my right hand to touch the normal part of his face. Reluctantly, but steadily, I lean in and kiss him. My mouth mostly touches the whole parts of his lips, but I can somewhat feel the teeth on the other side and I have to hold in a shudder. I want to pull back right away, but I force myself to hold it out, to make it feel real. The poor creature. What a nightmare, to look like that.

Finally the kiss has ended. I don't open my eyes until I am no longer close to him. He still looks a bit sad, and I can guess why. He smiles half-heartedly and extends his skeletal right hand. Strange to think that underneath the living flesh of my own hand there are those same bones, and that one day those bones will be all that remains of me on Earth. Gingerly I reach out and take his hand, and whether we are shaking on a deal, or he is guiding me to my destiny, I just don't know.

THE END


End file.
